


To Hell with Fate

by Brihna



Series: Brihna's Prompt-fills: 00Q [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: “I think that maybe this is fate telling us that we’re not meant to be together.”“Oh yeah? To hell with fate.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by amottledrose on tumblr. #124 from ourwritingprompts.tumblr.com

The gun was shaking in his hands.

A body lay at his feet; a life snuffed out by a single bullet. He knew that it had been necessary, a simple matter of self-defense, but the knowledge brought him no comfort. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

_Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled._

“Q!”

The authoritative tone snapped him out of his daze and he turned to see Bond standing off to his right, a cut above his eyebrow but not much worse for wear compared to the bodies at his feet. He wondered what he had done with his Walther. That’s right- Q was holding it.

In the blink of an eye Bond had pried it from his grasp and was leading him down a narrow alley with an iron grip on his arm. He was shoved into the passenger seat of a car he was sure hadn’t been there before; then the engine roared to life and they sped off at breakneck speed. He couldn’t figure out why he felt so cold.

He must have voiced this because the next thing he knew Bond was forcing his jacket on him, deep worry in his gaze. He draped the article over himself like a blanket and curled up as much as the seat would allow. The next thing he knew he was opening his eyes as Bond pulled up to their hotel.

The sun was just beginning to set as he was led into the room. Firm but gentle hands guided him to the bed where he was divested of his shoes. He wanted to make some comment regarding the fact that he could undress himself, thank you very much- but the room was starting to go in and out of focus. Work rough hands cradled his head and he blinked as a pair of sharp blue eyes came into focus.

“Q, I need you to stay with me. You’re going into shock.”

He lifted a hand, wrapping his fingers loosely around his wrist. “M’alright,” he answered lamely. It would help if the room would stop spinning.

“Like hell,” he growled. This didn’t seem to be directed at Q, but he was too addled to tell.

James coaxed him to lie down on the bed and proceeded to bury him beneath a pile of blankets. Somehow he couldn’t stop shivering. He felt a dip in the mattress and curled instinctively against the source of heat that settled in beside him. He was vaguely aware of a hand in his hair as his eyelids began to grow heavy and he allowed sleep to take him.

* * *

Q awoke in the dark to the grungy feeling of having slept in his clothes. He sat up slowly, feeling disoriented as he struggled to bring his surroundings into focus. Oh, right. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Someone must have removed them when he fell asleep. Someone… James. He remembered.

They were supposed to have been on holiday. Both James and Q had a significant amount of paid leave built up and James had suggested Tangier. Spontaneous really; but in their line of work they had to take the time where they could get it.

The first three days had gone uninterrupted. Then the alert came through. A terrorist plot had been uncovered right in heart of the city. Convenient, M had said darkly, that the location they had chosen was in the same province where Bond and Q were staying. They needed 007 on the ground and the Quartermaster to gain access to their network. Bond had argued that Q could assist just as well from London and had tried to send him home, but Q refused. He had R send supplies and he set up shop in their hotel suite. It had all gone well until Bond’s contact sold him out.

They were to meet at a small café where the contact was to give information regarding the whereabouts and identity of the local cell leader. Q had tucked himself away in a corner of the café, monitoring things both electronically and visually, much to Bond’s chagrin. When his contact was late, he became suspicious. When Bond left the sitting area with said contact contrary to their original plan, he became alarmed. Q felt he had no choice but to follow.

He maintained a safe distance- he wasn’t an idiot- and tailed them for a few blocks. Then there came the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Q ducked behind a building, sending out an alert to Tanner, and tried to assess the situation. Their contact was down, that much he could see from this vantage point, and he recognized the report of James’ Walther, indicating that he was still very much in the game.

Q pressed his back to the wall and inched closer, trying to get eyes on his agent. The sounds of gunfire had all but ceased, indicating that the fighting was in very close quarters now. He paused at the corner of the building and listened closely, trying to determine if it was safe to move forward. He heard the ‘clack’ of metal dropping onto the pavement and then an object slid into view. He bit back a curse. The day James Bond managed to hold onto his equipment would be the day hell freezes over. His Walther lay not five feet in front of Q. In what was- very likely- the most reckless decision of his life, Q slipped from his hiding place and dove for the weapon.

No sooner had he stepped into the open than a shadow loomed over him and fist collided with his lower back, driving the air from his lungs. He fell to his knees, turning just in time to see his assailant lunge for him once more. Not being entirely hopeless in self-defense, he rolled into a better position and swung a leg out, knocking the man off his feet. His hand closed around James’ Walther and he clambered to his feet. The man drew a blade. Q pulled the trigger.

* * *

Q found his glasses on the nightstand and slipped them on. The clock read just past midnight. He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved further into the suite, seeking his partner. He found James seated at the kitchenette nursing a bottle of scotch.

“Is that your solution every time a mission goes tits up or is this a special occasion?”

James’ head snapped up as he noted Q’s presence for the first time and there was a scrape of chair legs as he shot to his feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he answered, gripping him by the arms. His eyes were bloodshot and though he knew he had only been out for a matter of hours, James looked as if he’d been up for days.

“I’m fine,” said Q, resting his hands on his hips. “Really.”

He leaned in, pleased when James took the hint and pulled him in for a kiss, one hand tangled in his hair. What started out soft and gentle soon became more heated as Q made it clear that he was not about to fall apart in his hands. Then James was kissing him as if he needed the air from his lungs to draw breath. When they finally parted James pressed their foreheads together, loathe to let him go. Q wound his arms around his neck.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” James said wretchedly. “I put you in danger. If anything happened to you-”

Q rested his palm against his cheek. “But it didn’t.”

“Because you had to _kill_ a man,” said James, releasing him.

Q flinched at the reminder, taking a small step back. He drew a steadying breath. “I know.”

James clenched his fists at his side, his next words barely audible. “I never wanted that for you.”

Q stared dumbly as James retrieved his glass and slipped silently past him, going to stand in the window overlooking the city. Tentatively he followed, stopping a few feet behind him.

“We should never have come here,” said James. “What the hell was I thinking, that we could have a normal holiday.”

“It comes with the job, James,” said Q. “We both knew there was a chance we’d have to cut it short. You can’t exactly plan for a crisis.”

He shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on some point that Q could not see. “What if it’s more than that?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said James. “I just can’t help but think that… maybe this is fate telling us that we’re not meant to be together.”

For a moment Q stared at him, struggling to process what he had just heard. “Fate. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just saying that this wouldn’t have happened if you and I hadn’t gotten involved,” said James.

“So, what are you saying?” he demanded. “That we should just give up because you think some mystical higher power is pulling the strings? That neither of us has a say in our own lives? Do you really believe that?”

“You don’t understand, Q,” said James, turning to face him. “If something happened to you because of me I would never forgive myself. Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch someone you love die?”

“Because that isn’t my fear every time I run a mission for you?” Q stared at him. “Do you honestly think it would be easier if this stopped? Or that it’s worth both of us being miserable for the rest of our lives? James…” Q stepped towards him and wrested the glass from his hand, setting it on the coffee table behind them. “We both know the nature of this job. I understand that this is what you do and that this is who you are, and I would never _ever_ try to change that. Just as this is what I am. Just because I don’t spend a lot of time in the field doesn’t mean that I am impervious to harm. As long as I am Quartermaster, there is a target on my back. I know the risks just as much as you know your risks as a field agent. Don’t you understand? That’s why this _works_. So to hell with fate, or destiny, or whatever higher power you think may have control over our lives. I love you, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give you up without a fight.”

Q’s pulse was racing as he waited for James to respond. Blink. Move. _Anything._ The infuriating man was seemingly frozen where he stood. Then suddenly his blue eyes became clearer and something akin to a smile appeared on his face.

“Have I ever told you what a sodding genius you are?” said James.

Q glared at him. “Really? Is that all you have to say? After everything that I just-”

The rest of his tirade was abruptly cut off as James closed the distance between them and stopped him with his mouth. Any aggravation he felt soon evaporated as he melted into kiss. James Bond was a man of action, not of words; and he just told Q all that he needed to hear.


End file.
